


Satin in Candlelight

by words_are_like_colors



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: 1880s?, Furihata is a servant, M/M, Seijuro is son to a wealthy business man, Seijuro isnt a controlling ass in this for the most part, Winter/cold/night, lowkey hidden relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 08:43:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15725922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/words_are_like_colors/pseuds/words_are_like_colors
Summary: Waking up in the dead of night, Seijuro starts to watch the shadows. Nothing much happened other than expected dull reality so he decides to go pay his dear lover and servant a visit. It becomes apparent that the deep winter cold is a great problem.





	Satin in Candlelight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyMerlin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMerlin/gifts).



He woke up in the dead of night. The flickering of the candle on his windowsill drew out wild imagery of claws imprinted on his surroundings. Long grasping fingers inched closer and closer, creeping over the furniture and wood floors until they reached his bed. The talons were weightless as they pressed down upon the bed, drawing themselves over the sheets. He laid motionless as the claws tickled his chin, the dark masses barely brushing his skin before engulfing him. 

It should be mentioned that he was motionless from--not out of fear as anyone would be— boredom. He was bored. The only reason why he was laying there was that he was wondering if the shadows were remotely entertaining but no, just dull reality. Oh, and also there was never any claws, to begin with; the outstretched childish terrors were just breaches of the tree outside the window being illuminated by the full moon. 

Sitting up, he stretched out his arms before rising from the bed. The light flickered throughout the room as he struck a match, the claws and talons quickly retreating back into the shadows as if burned by the light. He lit his bedside candlestick before turning his attention to finding something to stop the nightly cold from reaching his skin. After a bit of searching, he found a robe laying folded up on his chair. It was soft yet silky to the touch and the black fabric flowed through his fingers like waters in the night. Finding this fitting, he donned the robe carefully not wanting to tear the beautiful fabric as he pulled his arms through the sleeves and tied it around his waist. 

With a careful yet determined gate, he started out of his room and down the hallway. Paintings lined the walls before him, each of them reflecting lifeless expressions of distaste and glory. He hated this pictures, not because of who was in them but for what they meant. It is not much of a secret on why he would feel this way, about anyone would if they grew up around insensible demands and lifeless faces (much in the truth of his deceased mother), anyone would hate to walk down a hallway lined with people who they felt pushed down by.  
Seijuro was the son of the most influential businessmen to control the relative area. If governments were not in play and the citizens more lenient, Akashi Masaomi would have all of the peoples and companies wrapped around his finger like puppets to a master. He wanted to be king, the ruler of those near and far and to rule with an unwavering reign; the statement that is repeated day after day and stabs him with vigor shows this: “I am absolute.” This being as this may, Seijuro was the only heir to the business's throne, being that after a tragic accident with his mother he is left being the closest relative, so there was a constant weight upon his shoulders trying to push him down until the only thing he could do is go up, and fulfill what his father expected him to do. 

Years of this mental torture past until he was right about to meet his breaking point when a boy stumbled upon his past. He was no boy in the physical sense but his personality clarified that label. He was nervous and fumbling, constantly trying to keep up his manners while simultaneously trying to apologize for every move he made. Although this may be his defining nature, when he is not under pressure or under an imperial eye, he radiates positivity and acts confidently, happy to be where he is despite any harsh orders. 

There was one summer night where the boy changed from a servant to a lover. Seijuro was having a night where he kept tossing and turning for no apparent reason so he got up to find something to do. Upon hearing some noises in the room across the hall, he ventured to figure out what it was. Pushing the door open a crack, he peered inside to find a magnificent sight: the servant-- no, lover-- no, Furihata in his beautiful essence. Moonlight was streaming from the open window, bathing the floor and ceilings with crisp light and there in the midst of it laid Furihata. It had seemed that he was in the middle of collecting the sheets and just dropped to the floor to sleep and no matter how uncomfortable it seemed, he looked angelic. Dark sheets exemplified his pale skin and mousy hair, moonlight illuminating every seam and fold of his body. Unknown, unspoken of feelings grew within him and before he knew it he had pushed open the door and padded out towards the mound of sheets and Furihata. He had never felt this way for him before, he found him attractive and kind but never had come about these feelings of want, and a deep craving was already rooting itself within for the need for more. Crouching down, he gently ran his fingers across his cheek, fingers barely tracing his skin but it was enough to be felt. Chocolate eyes looked up at him and for once, they were not fear of nervousness and awkwardness, just of sweet, heavenly comfort. 

Ever since that they, they had been an item which was something rumored about by the other staff but neither confirmed nor reaching his father’s knowledge. 

After walking down extensive hallways and staircases with the utmost care not to make a sound, he approached the servant's wing. Down this hallway was where the five or so servants lived, each of them with their specialty in tasks but that did not matter to the greater Akashi family; each room was small and dense (although arguably larger than most would suspect but smaller than regular family rooms) with its single door and window. Of course, the servants are paid enough money to be able to go out and buy personal items so it was not rare to see the young lady servant go out to town for food in her favorite dresses. It would be thought that this was not allowed but Seijuro’s mother had surprisingly gotten through his father’s head enough to show him that the servants work better when given free will outside of the house at least. Furihata had not been working at the house all that long to gather enough personal belongings such as the lady has but he had a few things that he liked to call his. Once, he was told to town to buy Seijuro’s niece a birthday present so he had come back to the house with said present but also a red toy stuffed bear for Seijuro and told him that the fur reminded him of his hair. Seijuro had politely declined it but said if he wished to keep it, keep it so that he remembers Seijuro when not present in his room. Every time Seijuro visits his room and sees the bear, he tries his best to hide a subtle smile. 

He paused at the door, his hand pressed against the cold wood, before slowly pushing the door open. Moonlight was streaming out of the small window by the ceiling, basking just the bed in bright light. Although unlike that night, the man in the sheets looked troubled as he trembled underneath the paper-thin sheets. 

A puff of air was visible as it pushed past his lips and with a pang, Seijuro felt a strong sense of pity and worry. The other servants had better bed situations than Furihata’s to his knowledge but this, it was worrisome. He had known about the winter night frost of the basement and had acknowledge the time when Furihata came up to his room with blue lips, lying that he was wondering if Seijuro was cold when really he was just seeking warmth (without his father noticing, he had the servants sit up in the grand hall with a fire burning for them all for the night). Seijuro had tried to ask his father for better bedding or better heating but it had fallen onto deaf ears, so all that could be done was great hall fires and personal bought sheets. 

(He put in the back of his mind to buy the servants better bedding for the next day so to “boost morale and promote better working”, or whatever reasoning he will come up with.)

But this present situation was more urgent. Walking over to the bed, Seijuro placed his candle on the nightstand before sitting down next to him. The silence of the night felt heavy on his tongue, all instinct telling not to break it, but he did, with a small, gentle whisper, “Furi, I am here.” The troubled look on his face seemed to slip away as Seijuro ran his fingers over his cheeks and forehead, smoothing down any rough lines until he appeared soft and endearing again. 

Furihata made a weak noise as he curled into himself. For a moment, it seemed like he was a small puppy put out into the unforgiving winter but no, he is now a puppy in a way with an owner who loved him dearly. Those beautiful eyes looked up at him questioningly, still too asleep to speak, seemingly wanting to know how he was here with him at this moment but Seijuro did not answer him. Instead, he stood up from the bed. 

Slowly taking off his robe, he finally let the chilly air attack his body. He tried his best not to laugh out loud as he saw Furihata’s eyes widening and the last of his warmth rising to fill his cheeks. “Not now, Seijuro, not now.” He managed to mumble through his drowsy haze. 

“Absolutely not, if I wanted that I would have asked you to come upstairs.” He replied simply, a small smile tugging at his lips at how innocent Furihata was sometimes. Over the sheets, he laid the satin robe over him, letting it protect him as like it protected him just moments before. He went to turn and walk back to the door but as that thought crossed his mind, another one did which deemed more fashionable. Crawling next to him under the covers, he pressed himself to Furihata’s side, instantly feeling his warmth put to good use. “You are chilly, love.”

“Extremely.” He rolled over and buried himself against Seijuro’s chest, trying his best to get as close as possible. “You should go to your room, its warmer and others wouldn’t catch you with me,” He said, quite unwillingly since he was holding onto Seijuro for heat.

“No, I am staying here. If anyone else has business with this, I will just make something up.”

“Quite irresponsible of you, dear sir~.” 

“You sure have a quick mouth when you are tired, go back to being careful.” Seijuro poked at Furihata’s cheeks as he filled with fondness. “Confident you is a rarity.” 

“It is your fault for not wanting me sleep deprived, or you can have confident me more often.”

“And risk you failing a task? No.” He pulled the covers up more around them like he was finalizing his statement. “It is time to sleep.” 

Furihata made a small noise of restrainment but did not object. 

As the night moved on, Seijuro stayed awake. There wasn’t much in him to sleep, the only thing important at the moment was making sure his love was comfortable. Throughout the night, the claws came back to haunt them, creeping and dragging themselves over the walls and floors as before but now, the flickering of the burning candle kept them at bay. The death claws of winter were withdrawing, pulling themselves back up into their dark den in the wait for the next year to arrive.


End file.
